


Miss me?

by Haunted_Echoes



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Breaking and Entering, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Hallucinations, Post-Season/Series 02, Pseudo threesome? idk, Threesome - F/F/F, soft!villanelle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:54:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24386254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haunted_Echoes/pseuds/Haunted_Echoes
Summary: She can hear the tapping of fingers against a thigh, that smell of shepherd’s pie, and hints of La Villanelle.“This is what you wanted?”This has been happening for quite some time now. These hauntings or hallucinations - whatever they are called. Maybe it is a psychopath thing to hear your ex’s speak to you from the dead. It has been an annoying background noise, but she supposes she has the time right now. Though she won’t respond out loud, that would be crazy...---Takes place mostly between Season 2 and the beginning episodes of Season 3. Spoilers for Season 3 episodes 1-2.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova, Maria/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 2
Kudos: 57





	Miss me?

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been gone from the writing game for years now. Lack of time or a muse, who knows? But this idea has been following me around for weeks now since 3x01. 
> 
> Welcome to my little head canon and first work for this fandom.

_Italics - Villanelle's thoughts_

* * *

“I dealt with it.” 

Villanelle’s jaw clenches, her body priming for another rebuttal. 

“Ah so you don’t think about her anymore?” Dasha has that smirk on her face. It really deserves a punch. 

She grits out again. “ I dealt with it.” 

Behind Dasha’s look of surrender, she sees a familiar flash of black curly hair disappear around a corner. 

* * *

~ Flashback ~

Honey blonde hair is covered with a large white sun hat. She’s sitting poolside in a tasteful one-piece, glimpses of skin in all the right places. There’s only the sounds of water and a crisp bite into a strawberry, the juice dripping out the side of her mouth. 

Psychopath. Emotionless. She’s familiar with these words, practically comes to expect them. After all, that thrill of life or something only exists in short moments. The life draining from someone’s eyes, their shitty soul sinking into nowhere. Winning in anything and everything but the boring stuff. A good fuck. She hums at the thought. 

Yet, with Eve, there’s a buzzing in her veins outside these moments. 

_I feel things when I’m with you._

Too bad Eve became boring. Unspecial. Another dead ex on the list. It is her life’s tragedy that everyone turns out to be disappointing. 

It’s been 4 months since Rome, and she is thriving, living her best life with her fiance with great shoes and a huge house. Eve was...fashionless and unappreciative. Maria adores her and worships her - both in and outside the bedroom. A smug grin emerges at the thought. 

Maria’s tongue almost makes up for her taste in movies. Almost. Sex and her fortune are surely enough. 

Villanelle closes her eyes. _Ah, there it is._ _As if doubt beckons her presence._

She can hear the tapping of fingers against a thigh, that smell of shepherd’s pie, and hints of La Villanelle.

“This is what you wanted?” 

This has been happening for quite some time now. These hauntings or hallucinations - whatever they are called. Maybe it is a psychopath thing to hear your ex’s speak to you from the dead. It has been an annoying background noise, but she supposes she has the time right now. Though she won’t respond out loud, that would be crazy. 

_Why yes, Eve. I finally have someone to watch movies with._

“Bullshit.” The curly haired woman scoffs. “Tch, is this really all you want?”

At this, Villanelle opens her eyes. She sees the Asian woman sitting in the lounge chair next to hers, legs crossed and unrealistically wearing a turtleneck in this hot sun. Eve is not really there, but her eyes seem real, always piercing and analyzing every piece of her, parts exposed and parts underneath the surface. Wanting. 

_I wanted more than you could give, Eve. You agreed to give me everything I wanted._ She shrugs, swirling her finger on the edges of a cold glass. _You lied, and now you’re dead._

“Who hurt you more, Villanelle? That day. Was it me or Konstantin? I don’t think you really want me dead.” 

Sipping the icy water fills her veins with a chill, a reminder of what she is and all she can be - cold and unfeeling. _You broke my heart, Eve. You gave me no choice._

“Another lie.” Eve’s apparition leans forward, eyes accusing but lit with an excitement of a dog hot on a trail. “You must lie to yourself every day - through all the fancy clothes you wear, your chic apartments, and now this sham relationship. I am the realest thing you have.” 

“No. You are not real.” Villanelle finally spits out, loud and in the wide open air, hazel eyes defiant. “You are dead. You are nothing. I made you special. Me. Now go haunt someone else because I don’t like this Eve. This game is no longer interesting. 

Eve surveys the surroundings and settles on the blonde, her eyes burning a path along her skin. “I think it’s my turn to be disappointed.” 

Villanelle closes her eyes and is left with the pool and the big, empty house. 

* * *

The wedding is one month away, and Villanelle is getting bored. Weddings are so tedious to plan, but it’s been making Maria happy and so very horny. So, she complies. What is it they say? Happy Life, happy wife? 

Propped up on one elbow, the blonde is straddling the Spanish woman’s leg, her wet center pressing into the other woman’s thigh while her other hand twists and massages tan breasts. Villanelle bites roughly at the skin along Maria’s neck, soothing it with her tongue. Maria squirms and moans. Quite vocal this one. She doesn’t mind. Maria often sings her praises, and she never tires of compliments. 

One of her hands edges downward, trailing her nails lightly around her hip to her inner thigh, teasing the outside of her entrance with the tip of her finger. 

“Yes. Yes. Yes. No pares. Por favor. Justo ahí.” _(Don’t stop. Please. Right there.)_

Her finger continues teasing, trailing up and down and around her clit, just grazing it. Her mouth bites and pulls against an earlobe, purring, “Beg me.”

“Te quiero. I need you. Take me, Billie. Take me please.” (I want you.)  
  


So what, if her future wife doesn’t know her real name? No big deal. It’s the thought that counts.

Two fingers plunge inside her, curling. A third finger slips in on the next thrust, again and again. Maria’s hips buck forward at the new pace, her hands twisting the sheets. 

“Mmm...bueno.” (Good) Pleased with her performance, she sinks to take a hardened nipple in her mouth, biting and soothing in between thrusts. Her thumb presses and circles against her clit, and she feels her tightening around her fingers. The brunette stiffens, and Villanelle surges up to kiss her and swallows the sounds of her moans as she releases. 

She slides off the woman and flips onto her back, glancing at the clock’s reflection in a mirror. _Not bad. 3 orgasms in an hour. Might be a new record_. She is still wet, feeling unsatisfied, her own hand trailing towards her center. Then lips are on her shoulder then her neck and down the valley between her breasts. 

“I can’t wait to marry you.” A kiss pressed into breasts. 

“You have been pleasing me all night. Now let me love you back.” 

Villanelle slides her hands into the brunette’s hair, gently pushing her mouth farther downward. 

Closing her eyes, she grunts, “Less talking.” 

_Finally._ A tongue sweeps inside. Circling around the entrance and back inside, massaging the walls and flattening to rub against her clit. 

“Fuck yes…” 

The tongue does another swipe, quick and rhythmic against her clit and then - she hears a polite cough. Her eyes shoot open, and once she sees the offender, they almost roll back into her head. 

She sees Eve in the reflection of the full-body mirror. 

_Fuck. Let me orgasm in peace._

“I’m not here for you. I’m here to learn.” Leaning forward, Eve has the audacity to smirk, and Jesus, it’s just turning her on more. 

_Fuck_ . Her hips buck. _Off, Eve._ She can feel that she’s close. No way is a dead person robbing her of an orgasm. 

Eve’s tongue darts out to lick her lips. This version is as stubborn and cheeky as the real one. It’s utterly maddening. “I use to wonder what you looked like during sex, how your eyes would change, how it all would make you feel. If it’s the same high when you kill someone?” 

There’s something unspoken between her and this reflection in the glass, their eyes meeting and looking at the woman between her thighs and back at each other. Lust? Curiosity? 

_Sad, you missed your chance? You’ll never be able to taste me either._

She feels like she finally has the upper hand, sees the reflection tighten her fists. She makes a show of it all for this fake Eve, releasing a loud moan and tangles her hands deeper into Maria’s hair. 

“Same goes to you, Oksana.” Her name. It makes her blood boil but also coming from her voice, her clit throbs harder. She uses her own hand to pinch at her nippes. 

  
God, she’s close. Maria happens to add her fingers now, and Villanelle can’t help but whimper at all the stimulation around her. 

Eve continues to watch, massaging the skin near her heart, fingers brushing against that cheap polyester sweater material. It’s her gunshot wound, where she aimed that deadly bullet. 

The reflection watches Villanelle reach for her own scar, matching her and tracing the outline, her whole body thrumming in need. 

It’s as if Eve knows she only has minutes or seconds left until Villanelle loses all logic of her surroundings, before the apparition has to disappear to wherever. 

Villanelle watches her eyes trail up and down her naked body, shamelessly with want, Eve’s hand pressed against the glass like a prisoner. 

“Don’t forget.”

She locks eyes with the blonde and whispers. “You’re mine.” 

Villanelle falls off the precipice. She feels everything, her back arching off the bed. Her release comes, full and loud, white glazing her vision and the echo of that voice and her moans in her mind. 

* * *

The glass breaks easy enough. Her hand carefully reaches through the self-made hole to turn the door knob. 

It’s dark outside, a little after 10PM. Maria is conveniently off on a trip for work, and she decided to have a bit of fun while she’s gone. She has been watching the occupant for the past 24 hours, who conveniently doesn’t close their blinds. She’s familiar enough with the layout by now. 

She peeks in the rooms and climbs up the stairs quietly, pushing open doors slightly with the point of her gun. She finds the study, and then heads to where she knows the bedroom is. 

She hears light snoring outside the door. _Bingo_ . 

She bursts in loudly, flips on the light switch, and aims her gun. When the woman in bed screams awake, Villanelle screams along with her, giddy. She forgets how fun this can be - the sneaking around and the screaming. 

She decides to use her posh English accent to quiet everything down before alarming the neighbors. “Excuse me. Sorry, excuse me. Shh...Hi there. I’m here to kill you.” Eyes widen in shock, and she takes the time to check this woman out. I mean, what else do you do in this situation? 

She’s in a nice blue striped pajama set. Black wavy hair. Older. She’s sitting stock straight in bed, her hands bringing the blanket up to her chin. Her eyes are this mixture of green and hazel. Overall, she has a nice face. 

“Just kidding. I’m not here to kill you. What I want is in here.” She smiles, tapping her gun to her head. “You’re the top clinical psychologist in this city, and I need a session. I’m just a private person, you see. Now, would you be more comfortable moving to your study?” 

The woman nods. She’s smart enough to not try anything brave. She just climbs out of bed, slides her feet into her slippers, and slips on her robe. Though this is a first, it’s not her first time dealing with...disturbed patients. “Follow me.” 

Villanelle opens the door with a little flourish, keeping her gun aimed at the other woman. “Ah, how gracious of you.” 

She lets the shrink settle in, gathering her notepad, pen, and glasses and tying her hair into a bun, while Villanelle sits on those cliche long leather couches, legs crossed, her elbow propped on the raised edge with her gun loosely aimed at the other woman. 

“Here is some money for your services. Oh and for banging up your door.” She places a stack of cash on the table and looks around the room. “I can’t believe you listen to people’s shitty problems all day. How do you find the energy to care?” 

Her glasses are half down her nose, her eyes narrowing as if she’s catching on to the type of patient she has in front of her. “I help people. That’s why I do this.” She takes a deep breath, clicking her pen. “Now, what can I help you with...uh, Miss?” 

“Oh hmm...No point in giving you a name because I will lie about it anyway. Continue with the more fun questions, yeah?” 

“Alright, what made you break into my home this fine night?” 

Vilanelle’s eyebrow raises, intrigued. The shrink has some attitude. She likes it. Maybe all the reviews were right for once. 

“I’m a psychopath. That’s what most psychologists for my work say anyway. I suppose they are right, considering I kill people for a living.” 

The woman seems unfazed, but a bead of sweat has gathered at the back of her neck, dripping down her back. 

“I’ve killed loads of people over the years. Tons. I’m sort of a big deal in this industry, but five months ago, I killed this woman I sort of fancy. Now she’s everywhere. Why is that? Is it a psychopath thing? Am I going crazy?” 

The woman just stares. 

“Hello?” She waves her gun around. “Are you broken?” 

“Sorry, that was a lot to take in. Um, can you describe your relationship with this woman?” 

“She worked for the government, and I’m the ‘bad guy’, you see. It was all a game, where each passing day led with the question of who was hunting who? And who was winning? I courted her for a bit, bought her clothes, flowers, and perfume. That was my favorite. She even wore it.” 

Villanelle smiles at the memory. 

“We worked together for a brief few months. Enemy of my enemy, you know. We could have been lovers, if it wasn’t for the whole forbidden love and moral code of hers. Oh, she was married but that’s besides the point. She was barely spending any time with the bloke anyway.” 

She’s scribbling down notes. “And this woman, uh, reciprocated these thoughts?”

“It’s not one of those stalker situations. I know it’s hard to believe. I find myself thinking that too, but she was obsessed with more than just finding me. Doctor, I’m an assassin. I see primal emotions every day. Fear. Anger. Lust. And, I also know women.” She smirks and winks. “On a deep level.” 

The shrink shifts uncomfortably on her gaze.

“I am certain she fancied me in some way, too. She broke into my apartment and confessed, ‘She thought about me all the time. What I wear. What I’m doing. How I feel when I kill someone.’ If that’s not love?” She shrugs.

More scribbles. “Mmmmhmm. If she reciprocated, then why did you kill her?” 

Villanelle goes a little more quiet, places her gun on the table beside her, hands clasped together fiddling with her fingers. She looks up at the shrink. “I wanted to run away with her, and she said no. She said I didn’t know what love was.” 

Her face scrunches and twists in a desperate confusion. “She was in shock, maybe? She just killed someone for the first time to protect me. She clearly cared for me. Yes, I had a gun and could have protected myself, but I knew she could do it. I knew that we were the same. That day proved it, but she rejected me. She rejected us.” 

The shrink continues to scribble notes. She’s intrigued at the smallness and possible signs of guilt that this supposed psychopath is exhibiting. “And now you are hallucinating her?” 

“Yes. Everywhere. It is rather annoying.” She swipes at the tear that has escaped. _Traitor_. 

She places her notepad in her lap. “Have you ever felt regret before?” 

“Is that what this is?” 

* * *

It is her wedding day. Hooray! 

The reception is about to start. The room is filled with so many strangers and small children running about. She can see why people enjoy weddings. Good music. Good food. She thinks she’s enjoying hers. She would if she didn’t feel something missing, nagging in the back of her mind, a feeling of being watched. Though she does look amazing today.

Since that night a month ago, fake Eve has gone. It is widely unfair and rude to give a woman one of the best orgasms of her life and disappear into the ether. If anything, she was only allowed such a feat. 

_Speak of the devil herself._ A flash of curly hair and bright blue. 

She rounds the corner, only to see an older plump woman returning from the bathroom. 

She sighs.

“Villanelle.” 

Her head shoots up, eyes following the stairwell and catching sight of curly voluminous hair on second level overseeing the foyer. She takes two steps at a time, slowly revealing that royal blue, tight dress of Eve’s. She saw a glimpse of it once, in the passing hallways of the school. 

Of course, her mind draws out this vision, this outfit wasted on the likes of the moustache. 

This new hallucination is leaning against the marble, both elbows propped on top of the railing. 

They just stand across from each other, taking it all in. Villanelle’s hands are tucked into her pants, and she can feel the drool in her mouth gathering at the sight of her, at all that skin and her legs. Fuck, and that hair. 

“Congratulations.” 

“Do you really mean that?”  
  


The vision ignores her, long fingers are trailing back and forth on the cool marble railing. 

“Are you happy, Villanelle?” 

Her hand reaches forward to cup Eve’s face. After months, it’s the first time she’s given in to touching this hallucination. It leans into her touch, encapsulating them both in this moment, breathing the same air. 

“I don’t know.”

She lets go, trailing her hand along her collarbone and down her arm. She pins Eve against the railing, her hands on both sides of her. It’s a familiar position, reminiscent of all those nights in the kitchen. 

Their foreheads touch, and she’s slowly inhaling the scent, La Villanelle, as if too much of it will make her faint. She is intoxicating.

“Too bad we never got a kiss.” Villanelle whispers with that false bravado.

Eve’s thumb grazes the underside of her jaw, gentle but firmly pressing. 

“I really hope you’re happy Villanelle.” 

The blonde assassin doesn’t know if that was a sincere wish or a curse, but either way, she’s left alone, hands squeezing a railing and her head bowed over the edge. 

“Billie, mi amor! It is time for the toasts!” (my love) 

Her wife is calling. 

* * *

Barcelona is certainly not Paris, but it will do. 

Life is good. She is being promoted. Dasha is only a little annoying, and her apartment is nice - stellar water pressure. 

Decorating it will take some time, having to collect more trinkets from all her travels. She’s picked up some flowers from one of the local shops, perfect for a vase on the center table in the foyer. 

Then he’s there. Konstantin. Here in her new place, where she’s trying to break from her past and moving up in the world. 

How dare he show his ugly face. She can hear his voice still, “We are friends, but we are not family.” 

She aims a well-deserved kick in the balls and hears Eve’s faint voice, “nice shot.” 

He’s spouting bullshit and more lies, as if he ever watched out for her instead of protecting himself. 

“Eve, she is alive.” 

“That’s not possible.” 

He looks at her with pity. “I saw her with my own eyes.” 

“I shot her.” She can feel part of herself, somewhere, breaking and unraveling at the seams. 

“You got angry and ran away without check if the person was actually dead. You are not safe. Do not go to London.” 

Maybe it’s this world she’s created around herself, crumbling beneath her. Eve is alive? She is alive... 

“Villanelle.” 

“Villanelle.” He reaches out, but she brushes him off.

“I’m fine. Really, I think you should go.” She pauses. “How do you know I’m back with the Twelve?” 

“Because I never stopped working for them. You know I care about you?”  
  


She scoffs. More lies. “I know you’re full of shit.” 

“Can’t it be both?” She barely hears the door click behind him. 

The apparition of Eve is standing across from her in that last outfit, the green turtleneck, hands in her pockets. 

A tear is trailing down Villanelle’s face, as they look at one another. 

_You’re alive?_ Her eyes watery in disbelief. 

“Turns out I am.” Eve says coyly, an eyebrow raised. 

_You’re alive._ Her brow is furrowed in confusion with a touch of anger. 

The Asian woman tilts her head. “So, what are you going to do about it?”  
  


_You’re alive._ Her smile grows, the truth setting into reality, all of life’s potential settling in. 

Eve smiles back. “See you soon.” She fades into the bright Barcelona sun, streaming through the windows. 

Villanelle laughs, manic with excitement. 

_She’s alive!_

**Author's Note:**

> Is it weird to feel dirty to write smut for anything but Villaneve? I feel like a traitor. Welp. 
> 
> A note about the last part with the repetitive, “you’re alive.” I could only think of Jodie Comer’s ad for Loewe and her spectrum of emotions. If you haven’t seen it yet, you’re doing yourself a disservice. Go. Go now. Then come back and leave a comment.
> 
> Comments give me life.


End file.
